


187 - Soundcheck

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 03:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17399567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “One based off soundcheck? Or just the Chill you out-drive though the night to your sisters- jacket as a cover- wake up just to smoke bit”





	187 - Soundcheck

Expecting to spend your lunch break alone, Van was finished sound check in less than half an hour, early enough to meet you. He'd ducked out, leaving his guitar in Larry's hands, claiming to be popping out for a quick smoke. They all knew better.

"Darlin'," he greeted.

You leaned against a brick wall in a side street covered in art and dirt. You shared a couple of cigarettes and mostly just watched each other.

"Think you should just quit the band and come live with me in my bed forever," you said. He grinned and stepped closer.

"You only like me 'cause I'm in a band,"

"Not true. I also like you 'cause you share your smokes," you replied, reaching out for the one in his hand. He shook his head. "Besides, what do you need 'cept me?"

"Nothin' at all, darlin'. Nothing at all."

You kissed and let him go back to work. He'd never actually quit the band for you, and if he did you would immediately break up with him. It wasn't that you only liked him for being a frontman like he joked, but Catfish was a fundamental part of Van's life and personality. It defined him. At least, it had always done and would for a few more years yet. You imagined that one day it wouldn't be like that. He'd find identity in other things too, in family most likely. But in the present reality, he was Catfish and Catfish was him. You felt lucky to be in Van's life in any way, shape, or form.

After work you went home and ate mac and cheese. Your sister called and said you had to go around and pick up the last of your stuff. You'd lived with her for a while, and a box of books and a few bags of clothes were still in her spare room. She needed it gone because the painters were coming in. Baby blue. Your body was crying out for sleep though, and when you hung up the phone it rang immediately. Van.

"Darlin'. Whatcha doin'? Wanna come out for drinks?"

"Noooooooo," you whined.

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Have to go to Miranda's and pick up the rest of my shit,"

"Ah. 'Kay. I'll come. Gimme twenty and I'll pick you up."

God, he was sweet. You looked out the window at the darkening sky. Trying to protest, Van ignored you. He hung up and was knocking on your door twenty-five minutes later.

"You do know she lives an hour and a half away?" you explained as he looked for something in his car's glovebox.

"Yeah. But it's straight road,"

"Van. What are you looking for?"

"This!" he said happily. It was a small pipe that you remembered using when you'd first started dating. He packed it with weed and handed it over.

"You can't drive high," you said frowning. He laughed.

"Not gonna. That's for you. This is for me," he answered, lighting a cigarette and putting it between his teeth as he pulled out onto the road. You melted into the seat and played with the radio. There was giggling and feet on the dashboard and the tracing of lines on Van's palm.

"Are you gonna love me forever?" you asked suddenly, watching the night time world fly by at 110 kilometres an hour.

"Yes,"

"Is our life gonna be good?"

"It's already good, yeah? You're happy?"

"Anything is better than before. Hate teeny tiny towns," you said, giggling at the alliteration. You'd grown up in a small village; even smaller than where Van was from. Despite being bored for all your teenage years, that kind of upbringing cemented a gratefulness in you. You appreciated everything you had, every opportunity, every good day. Van was the same, and that humbleness bound you together. "I'm happy. You make me happy,"

"You make me happy too, darlin'."

Sobered up by the time you got to Miranda's, Van carried your stuff to his car as you drank coffee and asked how everyone was. You didn't stay long; you felt more at ease in the front seat of Van's car than almost anywhere else. It was a messy space, filled with trash and clothes and CDs with broken plastic cases. It smelt like cigarettes and cheap pine tree shaped air fresheners and Van's aftershave. You curled up and wriggled happily as he played with your hair.

"Cold," you mumbled.

"Heaters up full. Here," he said as he dragged his jacket from the back over you. Pulling it around you, you smiled and started to fall asleep.

"Wake me up when you have a smoke next," you whispered. He replied, but you didn't really hear it. The rumble of the road under the car and the soft music from the radio sent you to sleep.


End file.
